


Leaning on the Edge

by A_N_Whitmore



Series: Obsession [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Confusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 12:12:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_N_Whitmore/pseuds/A_N_Whitmore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is having trouble adapting to life in the Druid retreat and escapes for a morning walk each day but someone has been following him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leaning on the Edge

When Stiles agreed to go on this retreat, he didn’t think he’d be going away to the freaking Ozarks! Lets just say, California it was not and Stiles had packed nothing but t-shirts and a few thin plaids. Not only was it cold, but it was boring and he was in the middle of nowhere without any creature comforts. Deaton merely laughed when he took away Stiles’ mobile and keys, telling him that it was meant to be a learning experience, not a vacation.

It was even worse when they cut down on his Adderall dosage (Maybe it was because Deaton saw him taking three pills at breakfast), Fucking Dragons in the kitchen cat had nothing on his DT’s! Then of all people to show up, who should be there but Deucalion. So, not only was he stuck on a mountain range with nothing to do and detox hallucinations; but, he was cold and stuck with one of the people who drove him up a wall more than Peter!

The first week was the worst, but nothing compared to finding out that not only would he be detoxing, he would still be expected to join in the morning processional gathering and establishment of the grove.

Luckily someone had been nice enough to give him some chamomile tea for his stomach and Deaton had told him to drink basil tea to lessen the other symptoms.

He hated the taste of basil, but nothing compared to the tincture of oregano oil…. He swore that he would smell like a damn pizza for months.

He had to admit though, the air was clear and despite the small bits of shelter, the blankets were heavy and his robes were warm once he got used to wearing them daily. Deaton and the others rose early before the sun, and often prepared their meals in silence or chose to fast and pray.

Yet, as soon as he felt like he could get up and move, more than just two feet beyond the front door of his shelter, Stiles ran. And every morning Deucalion managed to find him. This went on for about three days until Stiles could take no more of the Demon Wolf skulking behind him.

“What the hell is it with you following me?”

Stiles huffed, out of breath against a tall oak in the cold October morning. His black t-shirt was soaked with sweat and his hair was plastered to his forehead.

“Do you want to talk like a civilised human being or are you going to sit there and sulk like a child while you continue to run away from your problems?”

Deucalion sat down easily, looking barely out of breath with nary a hair out of place as he rested his right foot on a nearby rock.

“I didn’t run away… I was invited. Besides, I’m not the one who crashed the damn party here, so why don’t you just fuck off.”

“You sound just like Peter did when he was younger.”

Stiles watched him, deciding to keep his mouth shut as the older wolf continued.

“You know, he was right when he said you would make a good wolf if you survived the bite, but he didn’t tell you why.” Deucalion paused taking in a deep breath of the pine soaked morning air. “You have a desire to belong Stiles, a need for completion just like he did. You are so fiercely loyal and protective that it could get you killed. You don’t know the first thing about self preservation, you just go in on these quickly thought up schemes, consequences be damned.”

“My plans are the only thing that keeps the pack alive.” Stiles said quietly feeling a bit derided.

“You aren’t an Alpha, or even an Emissary. Yet, your friends let you throw yourself on the pyre like a little lost lamb.”

“So what If I’m not an Alpha, sometimes it takes more than brute strength to see your way past a problem asshole! Plus didn’t you get the memo? I’m here to train, that’s why I decided to home school instead of playing mental Russian Roulette! Plus, my friends don’t let me do anything, I get into enough trouble without their permission.”

Stiles started to walk back towards the encampment when Deucalion’s voice rang out clear in the silence, scattering a flock of wood thrush in the undergrowth nearby.

“Really? I seem to recall you always having to have order established for you Sviatolslav.”

Stiles stopped, no one in or out of the pack besides Scott and his mother knew his name. Hell Beacon Hills couldn’t even pronounce it and those records were protected. A shiver fell down his spine, the rolling sibilant s and v pronunciation were just right. It had been too long since anyone said his true name.

“You’re thinking of your mother aren’t you?”

“What are you? fucking Freud?” Deucalion walked up beside him, quietly taking in the young man’s clenched fists and tight shoulders, the way his sweat had formed dappled swirl patterns which now dried tacky on his pale skin.

“Not Freud no, merely an observer.”

“Yeah well you can go find someone else to stalk, I’m not your metaphorical Bambi or your fucking charity case.”

“Sacrifice changed you.”

“Yeah… welcome to reality, life is a lemon and I want my money back.”


End file.
